Author: 反舌鸟 / Mockingbird

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/
Editor: Eli

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Chapter 3

Long Xingyu brought a boxed meal to Yu Ruoyun.

“The great film emperor is really approachable and down-to-earth,” Long Xingyu said, “If I were at your level, I would hire a private chef to cook just for me.”

He casually added, “Some celebrities do that, you know. I read in the news about one who wouldn’t even drink the local water and had mineral water shipped in, getting criticized by the media for being pretentious.”

In retrospect, the criticism wasn’t unwarranted. He was indeed fussy and pretentious.

Yu Ruoyun just ate his meal, not really paying attention to Long Xingyu, only speaking after he finished eating. “There might be a reason for that.”

“What reason?” Long Xingyu asked.

“Maybe some people have sensitive stomachs. Drinking untreated water could give them diarrhea. Ensuring their health is a form of professionalism,” Yu Ruoyun said, though it seemed he didn’t actually remember who he was talking about.

But Long Xingyu felt no gratitude.

He thought, ‘You knew? Then why the hell didn’t you speak up at the time? Why didn’t you say something good? You just let the media use you as a positive example, praising how tough Yu Ruoyun is, never asking for special treatment, unlike…’

But recalling the promise he made to himself yesterday, Long Xingyu decided to stay calm, forgive this hypocrite, and even gave Yu Ruoyun a piece of meat.

“I’m full,” Yu Ruoyun refused.

“This is out of concern for you. We need to develop our relationship now,” Long Xingyu said. “The plot is about to progress to where we meet and get acquainted. We need to interact more in daily life to bring that into our acting.”

“That’s not how you act,” Yu Ruoyun retorted, clearly disapproving of his unorthodox approach. “Later, we also have a falling out. Are you planning to kill me in real life too?”

Long Xingyu stared at the uneaten piece of meat for a long time, only saying, “Who knows,” after Yu Ruoyun had already walked away.

……

Outside the crew, there were fans with long lenses taking photos. Once taken, the watermarked previews were immediately posted on Weibo. The crew initially made a show of stopping it once or twice, but soon stopped bothering. Gaining some heat wasn’t a bad thing, seeing it as free promotion from the fans.

Oddly, today’s photos didn’t crop out or pixelate Yu Ruoyun next to Long Xingyu. This was rare and against the principle of “focusing on one’s idol”, but fans didn’t mind because it was Yu Ruoyun. It perfectly demonstrated that Long Xingyu and Yu Ruoyun had a good relationship, making Long Xingyu’s recent joke seem less offensive. As if Yu Ruoyun had many fans to defend him. In reality, those who disliked Long Xingyu were just using Yu Ruoyun as a tool to attack him.

Long Xingyu knew all too well how the public perceived Yu Ruoyun.

Once ubiquitous on posters and billboards, with a handsome face and excellent acting skills, but at the same time, that face had become overly familiar and tiresome.

Others saw him and praised him, unable to recall any negative incidents, even asking for his autograph like Long Xingyu’s fan had. Any passerby who heard Yu Ruoyun’s name would know who he was, unlike Long Xingyu, who despite getting tens of thousands of likes on Weibo, would be despised by straight men and disliked by parents in real life, seen as just another pretty boy.

However, despite Yu Ruoyun’s seemingly perfect reputation, few people would truly pay to watch him anymore.

This was no longer Yu Ruoyun’s era.

But Long Xingyu soon realized he wasn’t in a position to pity Yu Ruoyun.

He was the one at the bottom of the entertainment industry, with nothing but fleeting fans and a draconian contract with his company, where he had no autonomy.

In the past, he never thought he would have to bargain over such trivial matters. “What… What micro-business endorsements? No way, cancel it!”

His manager was surprised. Pushing back was one thing, but Long Xingyu’s firm tone was as if the manager was working for him. To Long Xingyu, he was already being exceedingly polite, negotiating gently while suppressing his anger and even refraining from using foul language.

The back-and-forth eroded their patience. The manager’s message was clear: Long Xingyu’s objections were meaningless. They could sign the endorsement deal without his consent.

“There’s no need to make things ugly. Your contract has five more years,” the manager said, sounding affectionate. “Xingyu, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, ever since you…”

Long Xingyu hung up.

He understood the threat. From their perspective, making money for the company was only fair. The cost of training an idol had to be recouped. Besides, the company had only managed to make this one group successful. Who knew when their next lucky break would come? They had to cash in while they could.

If he were truly Long Xingyu, he might see it that way.

“Fuck off.” But the current Long Xingyu could only curse under his breath. “This is a great time to break the contract anyway. It’s holding me back…”

Even speaking to himself, he faltered. What was the contract holding him back from?

Surely he should be doing something big, like seeking revenge? Building a career? Acting for the rise of China?

Getting into this position took tremendous effort, all for a small role, just to be close to someone who had forgotten him.

But that wasn’t Yu Ruoyun’s fault. Most people had probably forgotten him.

“What contract?” someone at the door asked. It was Yu Ruoyun.

Long Xingyu jumped up from his chair. “What are you doing here?!”

Yu Ruoyun held up a bag. “This is your gift. I got it mixed up.”

Long Xingyu liked the first part of that sentence. He took the gift and shut the door behind them.

Yu Ruoyun indeed looked at him speechlessly.

“What are you looking at? I’m just asking for acting advice. Don’t worry. I won’t assault you,” Long Xingyu said. “Just chatting.”

“Chat about what?” Yu Ruoyun asked, surprisingly patient.

Long Xingyu got angry again.

Had Yu Ruoyun always been this casual? Easily dragged into a room to chat? Who knows if Yu Ruoyun had done the same with others in the crew, possibly even slept with those actresses for real, not just for publicity.

“No chat. Just leave,” Long Xingyu said. “Next time, knock before entering someone’s room.”

“You didn’t close the door,” Yu Ruoyun calmly explained. “And I knocked. You were on the phone.”

“Fine, I get it. You eavesdropped on my call,” Long Xingyu said, even pushing Yu Ruoyun. “You should go.”

But Yu Ruoyun just stood there, asking, “Are you terminating your contract with the company?”

“If there’s a problem, maybe I can help,” Yu Ruoyun offered.

Long Xingyu stared at Yu Ruoyun, not answering. After a while, he realized what was bothering him.

He was the one trying to get close to Yu Ruoyun, but any small kindness from Yu Ruoyun made him tremble. He feared Yu Ruoyun would easily accept him, rendering his past efforts meaningless. Yet Yu Ruoyun seemed genuine, without ulterior motives, just sincerely offering help because that’s the kind of person he was.

Unlike Jiang Yu, whose reputation was never as good as Yu Ruoyun’s. When Jiang Yu died, the public was shocked. Not the “such a good person is dead” kind of shock, but “even he can die too? I thought I’d always keep him blocked.”

“Nothing much, just some conflict with the company.” Long Xingyu lowered his head, hiding his expression from Yu Ruoyun. “Sorry for taking it out on you.”

Yu Ruoyun said it was fine and left this time without being stopped.

In the room, a full-length mirror reflected Long Xingyu’s unfamiliar face.

He reached out to touch it, feeling the cold surface. This idol had a delicate face, maybe lacking substance, not suited for prestigious directors’ films, like cheap candy wrapped in shiny foil—it would only attract young girls. He might have looked down on it before, but now it was all he had.

He remembered that the root cause of his bad mood today was the news he saw in the morning about Jiang Yu.

Oddly enough, there was still “news” about the dead Jiang Yu, unrelated to the entertainment industry. A poor mountain family had been receiving an annual scholarship, but this year the money hadn’t arrived. As the deadline for tuition fees approached, the student’s father borrowed a phone from a young man in the village and called the number on the remittance slip, asking for the money. The person on the other end said they had never funded a student. After a heated exchange, they discovered the issue: the phone number now belonged to someone else, as Jiang Yu’s number had been recycled.

Jiang Yu was the benefactor.

Comments on the news discussed how unexpected it was that Jiang Yu had been helping poor students. But now, who would take responsibility for the student’s funds was a tough question.

He laughed at the news for a long time. Even China Mobile was heartless, deactivating a number for unpaid bills, and now, without internet in the mountains, people had to track him down for money.

If it were Yu Ruoyun, it wouldn’t be like this. Everyone would mourn, recalling how much Yu Ruoyun had helped, praising his virtues and spreading love everywhere.

Not like Jiang Yu, whose unexpected death in a car accident made people suspect suicide because of his volatile personality, possibly depression.

He was perfectly healthy and had no desire to die. After all, if he died, Yu Ruoyun wouldn’t accompany him to the grave.

Damn it, why wasn’t it Yu Ruoyun who died?!

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